


Devotion

by InsaneWeasel



Series: Tucker Boner's Relationship with Lord Mianite [3]
Category: Mianite - Fandom, Mianite RPF
Genre: Angst, Gen, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:22:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23340910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsaneWeasel/pseuds/InsaneWeasel
Summary: Tucker is forced to reflect on his devotion to the Mianite of the Ruxomar world.
Relationships: Lord Mianite/Tucker Boner
Series: Tucker Boner's Relationship with Lord Mianite [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678603
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Devotion

His life was a shitstorm. Tucker sighed and sat next to his altar in the basement of his house, staring mournfully at his empty bottle of tequila and his dwindling lack of self-restraint reflecting up at him through the dark basalt floors of the room. A life of sucking up to a god in return for more orders, more terrible, terrible orders and his friends slowly becoming a distant memory.

…

“How’d Jeriah do it?” Tucker asked Mot one day, who was sharpening his axe. The man glanced up at him through a shaded stare.

“Clarify,” Mot said, inspecting his axe for weak points. Tucker could practically see his own reflection in the axe—his own depressed eyes hidden in the shadows of his face—dark bruises starkly under his eyes, his pale anemic skin hardly complimenting it. One loss of blood magic is he looked as pale as a proper corpse.

“The bounty hunter gig,” Tucker said. “If you haven’t noticed—Tom and Jordan avoid me at all costs and Sonja hasn’t even visited me since I started the blood magic shit,” Tucker said bleakly. “I’ve done everything Lord Mianite asked of me—”

“That’s where you’ve gone wrong,” Mot said. “Frankly, I’d be avoiding your sorry ass too if you weren’t moping around the blacksmith’s forge.” He adjusted the straps on his back to grab the cover for his axe, fastening it on neatly before swinging the axe to rest in its harness over his back.

“You’ve sucked Dianite’s cock your whole life,” Tucker said bitterly. “So, what room do you have to talk?”

He was hoping Mot might get angry, that he’d have a taste of the old fight he might’ve had with Tom. Swinging his sword around and getting his blood boiling, but Mot laughed. It was a cruel snide little laugh that made Tucker feel worse. “Again—wrong. I spent my life carving out a name for myself. I didn’t drop my britches and bend over like a common whore when I wanted something,” Mot said. “Learn to fight for yourself, and maybe I’ll put in a good word for you with Tom.”

“Fuck yourself, Mot—with that damned axe,” Tucker hollered, standing up and unsheathing his sword. He needed this fight—he needed to feel like someone saw him. Mot side stepped him and delivered a hard blow to his gut that sent Tucker to his knees.

He bent down and stared at Tucker as his eyes watered, the dark black eye glittering in the dim light of the forge flames. “If you want to feel loved, go beg your god for it. It’s the only thing you know how to do,” Mot said, smiled as if he told a good-natured jest, and then stood up. He slammed the door on his way out and left Tucker feeling in a worse state than before.

…

Tucker didn’t sober up for awhile after that.

He was taunted occasionally by Tom or Jordan—old taunts that felt dull and distant. How’d he feel about the holidays? Pod-racing? He ignored it. He had a mission—he was going to master blood magic. Devotion wasn’t blind—he was doing what he needed to prove himself.

When the order came to kill the Ianitas, to give his god his blood and use the kikokou—Tucker didn’t even flinch. He ran his sword through children and felt nothing, a dull throb in the front of his mind protesting, but he ignored it. His god would only love him if he did what he was told.

…

Tucker sobered up when he lost control of his body. His limbs contorted and used to go after his friends. He felt a shock like cold water incase him when it finally let up, when Mianite was beaten back. He told himself his god possessed him—it hadn’t been him doing that.

Mot broke the hard truth while they waited for Deviser Gaines to open the portal.

“Would it have been mercy to leave you for death back there?” Mot said casually, stopping beside Tucker as he caught his bearings in the end fight, sweat dripping down his back.

“What do you mean by that?” Tucker spat, sheathing his sword. He had half a mind to fight Mot, but it was hopeless. Lord Dianite was standing five feet away, he’d be toast in a heartbeat.

“You loved your god so much—you probably wanted to join him,” Mot stated.

Tucker shook his head. “He controlled me, possessed me to—”

Mot laughed. He exchanged a sideways look with Martha who looked uncomfortable. The woman could feel the fight brewing and she was standing to the side, halfway between intervening and not. “You weren’t fucking possessed, Tucker.”

“I was too,” Tucker argued. “I couldn’t control my body.”

“I know possession,” Dianite said quietly from behind Tucker. Martha sighed and walked off, clearly not interested in this conversation. Tucker felt trapped. The hell was Mot and Tom’s god getting off on coming over here and lecturing him. The god walked around Tucker to stand in front of him. “My brother didn’t possess you.”

“Bullshit. I didn’t choose to attack my friends!” Tucker spat. “I—” Care about them? He looked over to where Tom, Jordan and Wag were celebrating good-naturedly. When was the last-time he had been included on that. On any of their friendship moments. It felt…distant. Days blended together between learning blood magic spells, making runes and…

The god sighed and nudged Mot to go elsewhere. He shot Dianite an annoyed look, but joined Martha near Andor, shooting Tucker derisive judgemental looks. Tucker crossed his arms over his chest, feeling defenseless. “Don’t tell me I chose to do it,” Tucker said, forcing himself to stand up straight, to avoid feeling small under the god’s height.

“Trauma can have interesting effects,” Dianite said. “Sometimes people delude themselves. Despite Mot’s harsh words,” Dianite smiled at Tucker sympathetically, “he knows some of your trouble.”

“I’m not traumatized!” Tucker yelled. He felt put on the spot, singled out. Where was Jordan’s spotlight for his disloyalty or Tom’s for his flagrant lack of forethought! Why him! He didn’t deserve this. He hadn’t realized how loudly he yelled until the dawning silence was screaming around him. He caught Jordan’s stare before the man averted his eyes, pulling Tom away to do the same. He saw Tom’s eyes before they did. Worry.

Tucker felt rotten. Like someone had spilled his innards and left them inside him to fester for weeks. He didn’t want to listen to this. He hadn’t chose to kill his friends for his god—he’d know if he did. He wouldn’t make that decision without thinking. He’d never make that decision to begin with. Tom had never…

Dianite looked like he wanted to say something more, but Martha cut in. She put a hand on Tucker’s shoulder and he felt a wave of calming magic envelop him. “We can talk about this another time,” she said sternly to Dianite. “Let’s focus on getting out of here,” she said to Tucker.

And he did. For the rest of the trip out the thoughts of what he had done or why he had done him were distant, blissfully muted. For a few brief moments, nothing had ever distanced him from his friends. When Tom made a joke, muttering, “here we go again” Tucker felt a laugh bubble up. Jordan snorted in agreement and as they plunged into the void, Tucker hoped for a period of thoughtlessness.

Unlike last time—they were definitely conscious in the void this time.

And Tucker was hounded by his thoughts. Every second. He waited until he could have a semblance of alone time—when his friends seemed asleep, when the god and goddess distracted. And he let himself think those thoughts more openly.

If he hadn’t been possessed…

Tucker’s throat felt dry. He tried to recall the event, but it felt hazy and his stomach was nauseous. He fought past it all and saw himself in that moment, and he felt nothing but apathy from his memories. Of it being a cold and clinical decision. His god’s voice—when he thought it was possession it was only one simple order he acted on: “Kill them.”

And with no respawn possible, he had almost ended his friends for good.

Tucker nearly threw up. He ended up shaking, arms wrapped tight around himself. “I wanted to kill them,” he admitted quietly to himself.

Tucker had gone too far to impress his god. To feel an ounce of love. 

**Author's Note:**

> Was trying to write smut. Didn't succeed. :(


End file.
